


in your own sweet time

by tillysaysfuck



Category: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, M/M, Pre-Slash, References to Depression, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, gay people change their hair when they're depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-21
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-28 23:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillysaysfuck/pseuds/tillysaysfuck
Summary: With Steve gone, Sam is the only person left to call him Bucky. Sam, who helped him up from the ground after they Blipped back. Sam, who gave him his space after Steve left them in the present. Sam, who laughs too much and knows how to cook and speaks in military terms that are all at once familiar and foreign. Sam, the living, breathing man who knows who Bucky is and what he has left in his wake.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	in your own sweet time

The sun hides in plain sight. One minute it's there, the next it's gone.

Days bleed into one another, separated only by the ever-present human need to sleep-eat-move; acts fueled by routine rather than motivation. Losing track of a day or two is less concerning when you've already survived over a century. His neighbors in the apartment complex don't notice his absence, and he doesn’t take offense to the fact. No one pays any mind to each other these days, and rather than grovel like an old man with a superiority complex, Bucky likes the solitude. Less questions about a family who died decades ago, less lives put in danger by people getting too close. As long as he makes his two weekly appointments, no one questions his aimlessness. Dealing with people is tiring, and Bucky doesn't have the energy to spare.

"You look like shit."

Doctor Raynor doesn't have a way with words. She's cold and direct, detached in a way he almost envies. It's clear that she didn't sign up for this job, taking him on as her patient purely to appease the American government.

Bucky offers a tight smile. "Thanks, Doc. This what passes for professionalism these days?"

"Some people respond better to direct confrontation, others to subtleties." The woman in the chair across from him barely moves. Intellectually he knows she's human, but she doesn't care to show it. "I'm simply looking to gauge your reaction, James."

Hearing that name has become commonplace. James, the Winter Soldier, a string of Russian words and a brain on fire – legally, that’s who he is. That name is printed in high school history textbooks across the country just as it had been kept in secure HYDRA files. Bucky tries to wrap his head around the idea that Doctor Raynor has been approaching him with, the thought that he could reinvent himself as James Buchanan Barnes. But that man died in Austria over seventy years ago, and Bucky doesn’t know how to get him back.

Rays of sunlight shine from the cracks in the blinds. Bucky blinks.

“Okay,” He nods in Raynor’s direction. “So the hair’s a little greasy. I’m still trying to figure out which shampoo works for me.” So maybe he’s been distracted lately. Supressing his feelings has never been an issue, certainly not after everything he’s been through. Dealing with them head-on is his problem area, one he simply hasn’t cared to face.

Dr. Raynor raises a brow. "We both know this isn't about the hair, James."

She's always talking about fresh starts, so Bucky cuts his hair.

It helps in the long run. He’s grown accustomed to the cycle of wake sleep wake sleep wake wake wake. The night terrors are violent, and he wakes up gasping in cold sweats more often than not. Not having to wash away the sheen of dirt and oil coating his hair is a relief, albeit a small one.

Yori tells him he looks different. Bucky laughs with him about nothing.

It’s hard to forget the past when every moment is soaked in it. Avengers tributes sell like hotcakes, and it doesn’t take long for Bucky to realize it’s impossible to go twenty-four hours without seeing Steve Rogers’ face unless he stays home. The anger is something he hasn’t talked to Doctor Raynor about. It seems unfair, the rage simmering in his chest at the thought of the man who was supposed to be his best friend. He used to spend so much time thinking about how he’d abandoned Steve, of the decades they missed and the time it would take to get those moments back. It’s still hard to recognize he was the one who’d been abandoned in the end.

With Steve gone, Sam is the only person left to call him Bucky. Sam, who helped him up from the ground after they Blipped back. Sam, who gave him his space after Steve left them in the present. Sam, who laughs too much and knows how to cook and speaks in military terms that are all at once familiar and foreign. Sam, the living, breathing man who knows who Bucky is and what he has left in his wake.

Sam, the newcomer Steve had left his legacy to.

Bucky finds it impossible to let that one slide.

Sam still texts him every day. He's stopped asking how Bucky is, treating the wall of green text as a journal of sorts. It’s a strange routine, waking up each morning to something as trivial as a description of Sam’s military ration breakfast. He hasn’t texted back in months, yet the messages under Sam’s contact name is the longest text thread he has in his phone.

_"kill anyone today? i came pretty damn close"_

_"we got a lead in tunisia. i'll send a postcard"_

_"cell service in this hotel is shit"_

_"thought I saw your picture on a billboard. turns out it was a l'oreal ad."_

Sam doesn't pressure him, and for that Bucky is grateful. Still, he doesn't bring himself to respond. Can't bring himself to respond. Sam may be the only other person in this new world who understands what he's going through, yet Bucky would much rather be treated as a ghost than faced with reality. He hasn’t seen Sam in the better half of a year, and the thought of making these particular amends threatens to send him spiralling. Sam is the only one left, and acknowledging that hurts.

Bucky goes for runs and orders takeout and lies in bed for hours on end. There is no routine, nothing to expect. The only constant is Dr. Raynor’s bullshit and Sam’s texts.

Despite what he tells his therapist, most nights Bucky has nightmares. He feels himself falling, sees himself reflected in a pair of dead eyes. He is assaulted with memories that are not his own, not truly, because he was not himself when they were encoded. (Bucky wonders who _himself_ is, finds the thought too disturbing to think about for more than moments at a time.) There is nothing to anchor himself to, and Bucky is used to thinking this is normal. Some nights he wakes up screaming, shaking on the ground with close-cropped hair between his fingers. Most nights it’s simply a sense of discomfort that floods through his body, keeping him alert like caffeine anxiety.

But some nights, when the exhaustion has crippled his body past the point of no return, Bucky has dreams. He sees colour and light and the sharp tang of blood staining teeth. He dreams, and before they devolve into nightmares, he sees light shining out from behind two broad metal wings. Appendages become tools become weapons. He knows the feeling well. They are weapons, but they are warm. Bucky dreams he shields his eyes with vibranium and is rescued by a man clothed in fire.

For a brief moment between sleep and wake, Bucky sees the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> this show is gonna destroy me :)))))))  
> titular song by zaska


End file.
